Alice In Wonderland
by Miriel Jex
Summary: A Christmas-time one-shot for BBC Sherlock fans - possibility for a full story? Alice is new to London, but learns to love it quickly.


The morning was clear and cold when an old black sedan pulled into the lot of St. John's Wood Group Home for Young Men and Women. One of these Young Women immediately stepped out of the passenger side. Her shoulder-length, straight black hair swung as her blue eyes quickly glanced side to side. The Home was right across the street from Regent's Park, and most would have admired its beauty. She, however, quickly let her eyes wander to the amount of traffic towards the middle of the morning and the people walking nearby. Seven of the sixteen people on her block passed that way everyday – two stay-at-home mothers, a workaholic business man, a preoccupied history professor, a veteran of the war in Iraq – or perhaps Afghanistan – now homeless, a police officer walking her beat whose husband was cheating on her, and a recently graduated physics major still hunting for a job. She turned to her new place of residence, a gray three-story, drab and dull. Fortunately, she would only be stuck there for a few months before she turned eighteen.

Another woman, this one in her mid-thirties, stepped out of the car a moment later. She had a tight face and sharp grey eyes and was wearing a burgundy skirt-suit and a lanyard that identified her as Margaret Liddell, social worker, as if that wasn't already obvious enough. She plastered on a false smile as she looked at the young woman.

"Come on, Alice, let's go inside," she said.

Alice glanced down at her pale blue jeans and trainers as she walked, pulling her navy blue sweater closer over her light pink t-shirt. A small black bag and ridiculously green jacket hung at her side. Hearing the sound of a bus's brakes she glanced up, then at her watch. The 258 had stopped on Prince Albert Road just north of St. John's Wood High Street at 10:28 am.

Entering the Home, Alice groaned inwardly. The sitting room, and most likely the rest of the building, was fully decked out in Christmas "cheer." She didn't really have a problem with the holiday itself – the world was crazy enough, people deserved a break – just with the pressure it put on Young Men and Women in the system like her. The season was supposed to be for families, and they didn't have any – except for each other, as far too many social workers, teachers, etc. had pointed out, acting as if they understood. But what she really couldn't stand were the presents – gifts donated by people either trying to impress, trying to convince themselves that they are good people, or simply out of pity. No matter what she thought, however, she kept her mouth closed. She really did try to avoid being called names, and Scrooge had been a popular one a few times.

As Ms. Liddell introduced herself to the head mistress, Mrs. Nichols, Alice tuned out the conversation. She knew it by heart, having spent her entire life in the system, moving forty-one times. Instead, she focused on the others in the room. A set of twins around 8, green eyes and curly red hair, watching television, new to the system; a twelve-year old sister watching her ten-year-old brother admire the Christmas tree who had been in the system for a number of years; and a sixteen-year-old Goth cocaine addict who was busying himself on his laptop. No one remotely interesting.

After saying goodbye to Ms. Liddell, Alice went up to her assigned room on the second floor with the other girls, the boys on the third. Thankfully, she wouldn't have to worry about a roommate this time around. She stayed in her room until lunch, where she was introduced to the other occupants. As before, it was a boring, uninteresting bunch, though some of the younger ones were still naïve enough to be excited about the holiday season. She excused herself early, telling Mrs. Nichols she was going for a walk. The policewoman was talking to the homeless veteran across the street. Her feet took her south along Wellington Road for a little over half a mile before she grew tired of the rush hour traffic and turned onto Baker Street.

Suddenly, she heard a crash somewhere down the alley next to her. Most people would have continued on their way, but Alice couldn't help herself. She turned into the alley to find some sort of shattered ceramic. She picked up a piece to examine it more closely and found it was a fake skull.

"Put that back!" a voice called from above her. Alice looked up to find a man with dark curly hair, blue eyes, a wine-colored dress shirt and a black suit coat peering out a second story window. He was too well concealed by the window to reveal much about him, however. "John!" he yelled again.

Another man came hurrying around the corner. He had sandy blond hair and grey eyes, and was clearly an ex-army doctor whose girlfriend had dumped him the previous night. Less obvious was his sister who had a drinking problem and his strong relationship with a friend who spent quite a bit of time at crime scenes along with this John.

"You were supposed to be ready to measure the fragments!" The first man called down.

"Well, I would have been if you had told me which window you were going to throw it out of, Sherlock!" John hollered back before bending down with a tape measure to study the fragments.

"Don't bother," Alice said before turning her face back up to Sherlock. "Each fragment averages 5.2 centimeters away from each other in a spiral pattern with rectangular irregularities away from the building."

Sherlock blinked. "Third floor, then," he said, his head disappearing from the window.

"5.7 centimeters," Alice called, and the head reappeared. "Same pattern. Though, if you factor in skin, hair, and muscle, you have to multiply by –"

"Negative 1.27," Sherlock finished for her. "Why don't you come up?"

Alice followed John back around to the front of the building, and they entered a black door labeled 221b with a gold knocker. John led her up the stairs and held the door to the sitting room open for her. Her eyes swept around the room, drinking in information before alighting on the man himself. There was a look in his eyes that Alice recognized, and, uncomfortable, she tugged on the ends of her sleeves.

"Don't be nervous," Sherlock smiled slightly.

"I'm just used to being the one perceiving, not being perceived," she explained.

"Perceiving," he repeated. "I would normally say observing or deducing, but perceiving, I like that. Let us see how good your perception truly is."

Alice grinned. "You're a private inspector who also helps the police quite often. You play the violin equally as often to help you concentrate, as well as using nicotine patches. You know your older brother to be smarter than you yet you can't help considering him a rival. Your landlady does nearly all your cleaning and a significant portion of your cooking, but she seems rather uninteresting. Unlike your friend John here. He used to be an army doctor before moving to London a few months ago. He blames you that his girlfriend dumped him last night, and his sister has a drinking problem."

"How did you get the sister?" Sherlock asked.

"The frown lines between his eyes: they would be a millimeter further apart if he was worried about a brother instead of a sister."

John swore. "She's better than you, Sherlock," he said. Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"You're a foster child, have been all your life, and you haven't been expecting adoption for several years now. You move around extremely frequently, never making friends – your superior intellect puts you too far above them, though you generally see your ability as a problem. I suppose I thought the same at your age. 6 months ago, you were near the border of Scotland before you moved to Yorkshire, coming to London just today and now staying at St. John's Wood. You graduated secondary school last year and have been taking online college courses since then, focusing on the sciences, especially biology."

Alice's face lit up. "I knew I couldn't be the only one."

"You are not," Sherlock assured her. "There may be few at our level of brilliance, but there are some."

They spent the rest of the day talking together, John mostly confused and staying out of the conversation, probably busying himself trying to get his ex-girlfriend to take him back. Alice did not end up returning to the Home until quite late, and Mrs. Nichols went on and on about how worried she had been for quite some time. So the time passed terribly boringly, until Christmas Day rolled around. Alice stayed in the background as the younger children dove into their presents. Before long, however, the doorbell rang, and Mrs. Nichols went to answer it, but she quickly returned.

"Alice, dear, there's someone at the door for you," she frowned. Alice quickly jumped to her feet, curious to see who it was. There at the door stood the homeless veteran from Regent's Park.

"Sherlock 'olmes asked me to give this to yah," he said in a thick cockney accent as he held out a piece of paper. Alice took and unfolded it.

Body and missing painting at the Imperial Museum of War

Come immediately

-SH

Alice grinned. Perhaps Christmas wasn't so bad after all.


End file.
